Chapter 21

Dew Jirawat

It's late. The kind of late where everything feels a little too funny, a little too lazy, and responsibilities don't exist until tomorrow. Win and I are sprawled out on the couch, some random drama playing on the TV. Win's actually watching it, fully invested in whatever emotional mess is happening on-screen, while I—

Well, I'm doing anything but that.

I scroll through my phone, toss it aside, stretch my legs across Win's lap, groan dramatically, then do it all over again. "Win."

No response.

I nudge his thigh with my foot. "Winnnn."

He exhales through his nose. "What."

"What if I just quit university and opened a bakery?"

Nothing.

I turn my head to look at him, but he's still focused on the TV. "Win."

Still nothing.

"Win, my love, my life, my most beautiful—"

A handful of popcorn gets shoved into my mouth.

I choke. "What the—"

"You talk too much," he says, finally looking at me with the most unimpressed expression. "And you can't even cook instant noodles properly. You'd burn the bakery down within a week."

I sit up, placing a hand on my chest like he just stabbed me with his words. "Excuse you. I make amazing toast."

"Toast?" He snorts. "Dew, that's just putting bread into a machine and waiting."

"It takes skill," I argue.

"Sure." He pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth and turns back to the TV.

I narrow my eyes. "You're underestimating me."

"I'm being realistic."

I grab the popcorn bowl from his lap and eat aggressively, just to make a point. He doesn't even care.

Silence falls between us, the kind that's easy, warm. I lean my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Hey, Win."

He hums.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

He side-eyes me. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one."

He sighs. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"I think I'd be a cool ghost."

Win squints. "What does that even mean?"

"Like, I wouldn't be a scary ghost. I'd be one of those fun ones. I'd haunt you in a nice way."

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard."

"I'd leave you little notes. Move things around so you'd never lose them. Flicker the lights in a cute way, not a horror movie way."

"You're literally describing stalking."

I throw a piece of popcorn at him. He dodges it without even trying. "I'd be a great ghost, Win. Admit it."

"You're already haunting me, Dew."

I grin. "Aww. You love me so much."

He just shakes his head, but I catch the tiny smile tugging at his lips.

I stretch again, sighing dramatically. "Okay, serious question. Where should we go for our honeymoon?"

That actually makes him pause. He blinks at me, processing. "Our what?"

I nod. "Honeymoon. When we get married."

He chokes on his popcorn. "Dew—"

"I was thinking somewhere warm. A nice beach, maybe. You in swim trunks? A dream."

Win groans, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you love me."

"Unfortunately."

I laugh, curling up beside him. "We should at least go on a trip somewhere. Just the two of us."

He leans back, eyes on the ceiling, like he's actually considering it. "Maybe."

"See? I'm full of good ideas."

He side-eyes me. "You also just said you wanted to quit university and open a bakery."

I wave a hand. "Details."

He chuckles, finally giving in, pulling me closer like it's the easiest thing in the world. "Fine. We'll think about it."

And that's good enough for me.

-----------------

Win is half-asleep when I start playing with his fingers.

Soft, absentminded touches—brushing over his knuckles, tracing the lines of his palm, linking and unlinking our pinkies just to see if he notices. His skin is warm, his fingers slightly curled like he's too lazy to move, but he doesn't pull away.

"You're annoying," he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

I grin, shifting closer, feeling the heat of his body next to mine. "No, I'm not."

Win doesn't even open his eyes. Just sighs. "You are."

I keep playing with his hand, letting my fingertips brush over his wrist, slow and deliberate. His heartbeat is steady beneath my touch, a quiet rhythm I could listen to forever.

"You love it."

He hums, and I don't miss the way his lips twitch at the corners, like he's trying not to smile.

The room is quiet, the kind of silence that's comfortable, safe. The streetlights outside cast a soft glow through the window, painting faint golden streaks across the bed. It's late. We should be sleeping. But I don't want to.

I lift his hand, pressing a slow, lazy kiss against his knuckles. "Win?"

"Mm?"

I hesitate. I don't even know what I want to say. I just want to say his name. Just want to remind myself that he's here, that I get to have this.

Win finally cracks one eye open, watching me with that sleepy, amused expression. "You're weird."

"You love that too."

"Unfortunately."

I grin, and he sighs like I'm exhausting, like I'm the biggest burden in his life, but his fingers tighten around mine. Holding me there. Keeping me close.

I shift again, pressing my forehead against his shoulder, letting out a slow breath. He's always so warm. His scent is something soft, something familiar, something that makes my chest feel tight in the best way.

"You smell nice," I murmur against the fabric of his shirt.

Win snorts. "You're acting like I don't shower."

"You do." I smile against his shoulder. "But you smell... like you."

He doesn't say anything to that. Just lifts our hands and presses my palm against his chest, right over his heart. His heartbeat is steady, strong, and I know he's telling me something without using words.

I swallow hard. Something thick settles in my throat.

Win isn't always like this. He teases, he nags, he rolls his eyes when I'm being dramatic. But these moments—the ones where he lets himself be soft, where he lets me have him like this—these are the moments that make my heart feel like it's too big for my ribs.

I tuck myself against his side, letting my fingers trace idle patterns against his chest.

"This is nice," I say softly.

Win lets out a small hum, barely awake. But his arm tightens around me, holding me just a little closer.

This is it. This is everything.

Not some grand, dramatic moment. Not fireworks or confessions under the stars.

Just this.

His warmth. His hand in mine. The way he lets out that little sigh before drifting off completely.

I smile against his shoulder, my heart stupidly, ridiculously full.

"Goodnight, babe." I whisper.

Win doesn't answer.

But his fingers tighten around mine, just slightly.

"I love you." I mutter, before kissing his cheek and drifting off into a sleep.